


Even if you choke

by Someonewhosfunny



Series: a man so unafraid of death [3]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Canon, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 13:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20866859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Someonewhosfunny/pseuds/Someonewhosfunny
Summary: This is a direct response to THAT FINALE SCENE in S5E6. Be warned.





	Even if you choke

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how this fits into the rest of the fics in the series, but thematically, its the same. Title is from the song playing during the last scene of the episode, Papi Pacify by Anna Calvi.

Lizzie was sleeping restlessly when the sound of tires on gravel drifted into her consciousness. With her eyes still closed, Lizzie felt the empty bed beside her and rolled over. Tommy must be just coming back then, she figured. Forcing her eyes open and shoving herself up from the bed, Lizzie just barely saw the car in the drive through the early morning haze. She let herself lay back down and close her eyes, but knew sleep was beyond her at this point. She waited in bed, half dreaming, when she heard the shot.

  
The noise was muffled by distance, but she’d know the sound anywhere after living with Tommy. Lizzie ran to the window and caught a glimpse of Arthur’s back as he ran down the drive and into the fog. She threw one of Tommy’s coats over her thin sleeping gown and bolted down the stairs.

  
When she burst out of the house, everything seemed ethereal somehow. The air was thick and choked her like smoke. Lizzie could barely see two feet in front of her, but she kept her feet moving forward, half hoping she wouldn’t find anything at all. She could allow herself to imagine what sight would be greeting her.

  
A wail carried through the damp air and Lizzie quickened her steps, following the sound of sobs that followed. Time seemed to stretch and contort as she ran through the field, bare feet sticking in the mud with every step. Suddenly, her foot struck something solid and she was tumbling straight into the cold ground. When Lizzie looked up, Arthur’s silhouette became clear. He was knelt in the mud, cradling someone’s head. Some in an unmistakably expensive suit. Tommy’s suit.

  
“Tom,” she whispered.

  
Arthur looked up from where his head was buried, eyes bloodshot and tear-stained.

“He - he fucking shot himself,” Arthur cried, voice shaking just like his shoulder. “He shot ‘imself in the fucking head, Lizzie.”

  
Lizzie felt the numbness running through her like ice, but she steeled herself to do something.

  
“Arthur,” she started, making her way to where he was crouched. “Arthur, what happened, eh? What happened tonight?”

  
“Someone gave us up,” he choked. “We had a plan. To ah - assassinate Moseley up on stage. But someone fucking gave us up. Killed Aberama.” Arthur hiccuped. “It all went to fucking hell.”

  
“Holy fuck,” Lizzie hissed.

  
“After, Tommy’d had no fucking clue who’d done it. Never seen him like that.”

  
Arthur’s eyes were haunted.

  
“In the fucking dressing room, he just kept mumbling about how it didn’t make sense. He was fucking scaring me, alright. Never seen him lose it like that. But when we was back, I thought he just needed space. He always does everything fucking alone. I thought he needed time to think straight. I didn’t think he'd -”

  
Arthur broke into hysterics.

  
“Arthur,” she tried again, the rest of her words stuck in her throat.

  
“I should’ve fucking stopped him, Lizzie. My little brother. My fucking little brother. I - I knew he weren’t fucking fine, but I let him walk away. Now I’ve got his fucking brains in me hands.”

Arthur pulled his own gun out of the holster and chucked it angrily.

  
“My brother is dead and I can’t even shoot the fucking bastard who did it. He’s already fucking dead.”

  
Arthur’s crying sounded distance, despite the fact that Lizzie was knelt right next to him. She felt like there was cotton in her brain. Her useless fucking brain that could hardly process anything right now.

  
“An ambulance,” she choked after some time. “We need to call an ambulance, Arthur.”

  
When Arthur made no acknowledgment of her statement, she pushed herself to her feet, shaky as a newborn foal.

  
“I’m calling an ambulance.”

  
Lizzie was out of breath as she approached the large house. She could see Frances in the doorway with a pinched expression and gestured urgently until she was close enough for her voice to carry.

  
“Frances, call an ambulance. And keep the kids in the fucking house.”

  
Before Frances could move a muscle, Lizzie was shouting.

  
“Fucking go!”

  
With Frances back in the house, Lizzie collapsed on the doorstep, her body crumbling around her. She choked on wet gasps, trying to pull enough air into her lungs to keep herself from getting dizzy. She couldn’t say she was surprised - not really - but a part of her never believed he’d actually do it. She’d talked with Ada and Polly about it. She’d seen him cracking around the edges, deeper and deeper, with her own eyes. All those restless, drug fueled nights. But there were times during those nights when she doubted that he even _could_ die. Thought that he must be a ghost already, traipsing around her house in the dead of the night.

  
“Mrs. Shelby, I’ve called an ambulance,” Frances announced, stopping feet from where Lizzie had slumped. “Has something happened to Mr. Shelby? Would you like me to call a family member for you?”

  
Lizzie tried not to be cross at the woman - she really did. She knew Frances was loyal and she didn’t need to look up to know how worried their maid was, could hear it plainly in her voice. Still, she fumed inside, unable to control the emotions broiling inside her, and spit out her response more harshly than necessary.

  
“Yes, something has fucking happened, Frances. Call Pol. Tell her Tommy’s dead.”


End file.
